Greatest Gift
by kashkow
Summary: The greatest gift anyone can get is their life. What happens when the one that gave it to you needs some help? A tall dark stranger helps out.


The Greatest Gift

by Ellen H

Chapter One

Chip Morton, Executive Officer of the submarine _Seaview_, could hear the voices before he even turned the corner on the second floor of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research medical building. He sighed. He should have known when he got the harried call from Will Jamieson's secretary, Elaine, practically begging him to come over from the administration building. As he approached the door of Jamieson's office/examining room he saw a small cluster of people huddled outside the door, unabashedly eavesdropping. Of course you didn't have to be close for that. The arguments between Jamieson, Chief Medical Officer of _Seaview_, and Lee Crane, Captain of the same, had become legendary. In this instance they had a basic difference of opinion regarding what was the appropriate amount of time that Crane should remain on medical leave. Crane felt that since the cast had been removed, even though he still had a brace on the leg and needed a cane to get around, that didn't mean he wasn't fit to return to duty. Jamieson on the other hand wanted him to wait until the brace was off and he had completed another few weeks of physical therapy. _That_discussion had been exceedingly loud and full out war had been only narrowly averted by Admiral Nelson's intervention on Jamieson's side. Only the fact that Lee Crane valued Nelson's opinion and respected his authority kept him from refusing. He had agreed to continue with the therapy, but had demanded weekly examinations to determine his status.

That had been a week ago, and Lee had been working out with the therapist to the point of exhaustion, the therapist's exhaustion that was. Lee had run the man off his feet. There seemed to be no holding him back, every waking moment seemed to be devoted to therapy. The therapist had complained to Jamieson, and Jamieson had called the Captain into his office 3 days early, hence the argument even now disrupting the usually quiet building. As Morton gently forced his way through the crowd, which disappeared as they realized whom it was that was pushing through, he could make out the words coming from within.

"…..I can't help it if the man hasn't got any stamina! If he can't cut it assign someone else. You're the one that wanted me to have therapy. I'm doing the exercises you assigned, so what is the problem?"

"Don't be obtuse Captain. You know what the problem is! You seem to believe that doing more will make your knee get better quicker, and that isn't so. You are going to damage it more."

"It's feeling better. I can walk for longer without the cane and brace."

"You're not supposed to be walking without the cane and brace! They are there to give you support while your leg heals. The exercises can only build up the muscles so quickly, no matter how much you do. You are simply being stubborn. If you would just…."

"You wanted me to do therapy, now you tell me that it isn't effective. It seems to me that if a little is good more should be better as long as it doesn't hurt me. You just examined my knee, has it improved any?"

"That's is beside the point! The fact that you haven't managed to irreversibly damage it yet doesn't mean that the point isn't just around the corner. And let me tell you Captain, at the rate you are going you are going to get there quickly, and there won't be a thing I can do about it. Then you will be on shore duty forever, is that what you want?"

"I know what I can do, and what not to do. I am not overdoing it. Give me some credit! It's not like I haven't done this before. I am not some macho idiot posturing for his buddies. I am simply following _your_ instructions at a rate that is right for ME. If you would get off your medical high horse.."

Morton chose that moment to knock briskly and enter the room. He walked in on the tableau he had envisioned, Crane and Jamieson, toe to toe. Both with color in their faces, and grim looks in their eyes. Morton found himself the focus of two sets of angry eyes. He sighed again, and closed the door.

"I assume that the two of you know that you can be heard all the way to the elevator?" he said

"So?" Crane asked

"Not really good for morale to have the Captain and the CMO bellowing at each other like two rednecks at a fender- bender, if you get my drift."

"If certain people would simply follow instructions there would be no need for arguments, loud or otherwise."

"I _followed_ the instructions!" the volume was going back up.

"_Wait, wait, wait!_" Morton said, physically placing himself between the combatants. "Let's not go there again."

They both glared at him. "Now, can we sit down and discuss this like civilized people? Perhaps like the professional grown-ups we pretend to be on a regular basis?"

Crane and Jamieson retreated to the chairs they had no doubt started the meeting in, and Chip perched on the edge of the desk. "Now you," he said pointing at Jamieson, "seem to be objecting that Lee is doing too much, is that right?"

Jamieson started to speak but Chip held up a hand, "Yes or No."

"Yes," the doctor ground out.

"Has he done any damage to it so far?" Chip asked, anxious to hear the answer, but hiding the anxiety behind his XO face.

"No"

"Okay. Now you," he turned to Crane "Do you trust Jaime? Yes or No."

"Yes," a grudging answer.

"Do you think he has your best interest at heart?"

"Yes," less grudging, with a sheepish look at the doctor.

"Okay! I think we are getting somewhere. Now here's the plan. You." He pointed at Jamieson. "Make a therapy schedule that takes into consideration that Lee can do more than an hour a day, but that won't cause him any damage. Assign him someone that can keep up with him, and that is flexible enough to change the workout to suit his needs."

He turned to Crane who was smirking a little, "And you. You will stop trying to prove you're 100% when you are not. Even you need time to heal. You got out of the cast a week early, you are getting a modified therapy plan so quit your bitching and follow the plan."

The smirk disappeared, and a frown took its place. 'I want to go on the cruise next week, I can't do that if I follow some 'plan'."

Morton waved a hand at Jaime to stop the words he saw coming. "I'll handle it." He turned to Crane, with his best nasty XO look. "You don't always get what you want. You could be a danger to yourself and the crew, do you want that?"

"You know I would never do anything to hurt the crew! I can do my duty..."

"Can you? What if you have to move quickly? What if you were needed on a dive, or you had to lift something heavy? Can you look me in the eye and tell me you _know_you'll be ready?"

Amber eyes met his, then looked away. "No," came the low answer. Morton was sorry that he had to use the crew to make Crane listen to sense, but that was the one thing he could always count on. Crane would not do anything to hurt his crew, and he would not give anything less than 100% to his 'lady', as he called the _Seaview_. It was for his own good. They would only be out for a little over a week, dropping off supplies to various undersea science enclaves. If he knew Crane, he would be ready and waiting for the next cruise in three weeks.

Crane stood up, and grabbed the cane that was leaning against the arm. "Fine. I'll follow the plan. But I _will_ be on the next cruise." With that said he walked out of the office as quickly as he could.

Morton, who had not seen Crane for the last two days, noticed he seemed to be moving easier. Once the door closed behind Crane, Chip turned to Jamieson. "Can he be ready in three weeks, Jamie?"

"Yes, he can. He'll work himself and the therapist to a frazzle, but he'll be ready." The doctor sat back in his chair, a disgruntled look on his face. 'One of these days I'm not going to be able to put him back together, and whatever it is that keeps him healing so quickly is going to stop working. I don't know what we are going to do then."

"Don't borrow trouble Jaime. He is what he is, and I don't think we'd want him to be any different. He'll deal with whatever happens. I'm not saying that he won't yell about it, and generally make life miserable for all of us if the time ever comes. All we can do is hope that it's a long time in the future."

The doctor nodded. "You're right. I'll try to find someone who has a chance of keeping up with him, and keeping him from overdoing. I wonder if Attila the Hun is available?" He reached for the phone. Chip laughed, and left the doctor to his dialing.

Chapter 2

Lee Crane moved as quickly down the hall as he could, and managed to catch the elevator going down. He was glad to see it was empty. He really didn't want to talk to anyone. He wasn't up to be civil to strangers, and his friends… Well he _really_ didn't want to talk to any of his friends right now. He was tired of being on sick leave. He wanted to go to sea! He _needed_ to go to sea. He never really had felt as right on land as he did when he was out on the ocean. It was where he belonged, and a prolonged forced stay on land was grating on his nerves.

The fact that he couldn't make his knee better through sheer willpower wasn't helping. He knew that he was forcing the issue, but dammit, he wanted to be back on_Seaview_. He also knew that if he kept up the pace he had set he would re-injure himself, and then where would he be?

He stumped down the stairs to the medical building and got into the big Institute sedan that Nelson had insisted that he drive until his knee healed. He had protested of course, but had swiftly realized that he would never be able to drive his manual shift convertible. Another straw thrown on the camel's back. He started the car, and backed out of the space he was parked in. As he was putting it into drive, he saw Chip come out of the building, and wave at him, but Crane turned his head, and pretended he didn't notice. He really didn't want to get into it with Chip.

He knew his friends were only worried about him, but they just didn't seem to understand. All he wanted to do was go to sea. He would go as cargo if necessary. He would be able to get some work done, and still be able to prowl his boat. The mission was only dropping off supplies, how much excitement could there be? Chip could command the boat, Jamieson could watch him like a hawk, and he and Nelson could share coffee in the nose. Perfect. But no one else seemed to think so. They were all convinced he needed some kind of baby sitter to keep out of trouble. They thought he couldn't keep himself occupied without interfering with the running of the boat. So that got him beached for the duration.

As he exited the gates of the Institute he felt a little niggle of guilt at leaving Chip and Nelson with all the paperwork that piled up regardless of _Seaview_ being at sea or not. But a moment of reflection on the situation made the niggle disappear. He just needed something to do, something to keep himself busy. Christmas was in 2 weeks, but his shopping was done. He didn't have any hobbies that didn't involve some sort of physical activity, like diving, running, or sailing. He had a sudden flash of an ad he had seen in the paper this morning for a Historical Warship exhibit at the John Holden Museum down near the bay. That could be interesting. He signaled for a turn, and headed downtown. At least he'd take his mind off his troubles for a little bit.

Chapter 3

The exhibit had proven to be very interesting. With models and pictures they had followed the development of modern warships from the first iron clad through the newest aircraft carrier. He was now approaching the section on submarines, having saved the best section for last. He was interested to see what they had on the_Nautilus_, the ship both he and Nelson had served aboard, and the first boat to traverse under the Arctic ice cap. As he wondered through the section he noticed vaguely that there was an older man, the only other person in the room, standing in front of one model, and not moving. He seemed to be lost in thought. Crane continued moving from picture to model to picture, stopping to smile over the model of the _Nautilus_. He studiously avoided the U-boat pictures.

He came up to the model that had held the other man's attention for so long, and found himself looking at a World War 2 era Harpoon class submarine. Its name was displayed on a small brass plaque along with its class-'Triggerfish-Harpoon Class". The model had evidently been done by a true craftsman. The entire starboard section had been cut away to allow a view into the interior. The detail was fantastic. Each compartment was complete down to the buttons on the control panels. He studied it carefully, ignoring the other man, not noticing that his interest was being noted. He loved submarines in all shapes and sizes, with the exception of certain U-boats, and he was enjoying the opportunity to look at this one. He had never been on this particular class vessel since they had been decommissioned soon after WWII.

He was studying the aft section when he noticed something strange. The prop and rudders were in a strange configuration. The set-up was so similar to the more modern boats that for a moment he thought a mistake had been made by the builder. That perhaps he had been unfamiliar with the correct setup, and had simply used a more modern system as a model. Then he considered the detail of the rest of the boat, and discarded that idea. Whoever had made this model had been _on_ this boat. He would not have made such an error. He reached out a hand, and despite a sign to the contrary, touched one of the dive planes. It moved, but not in the way he would have expected. He gave a, "Harrumph," completely puzzled. This wasn't right, but it must be, since the model was so perfect.

He turned as he heard a chuckle from the man who had been standing there. He sheepishly smiled as he removed his had, assuming that was why the man was laughing. But the man, small of stature and looking to be in his mid to late 70's, but still vigorous, shook his head. "Don't seem quite right to you, son?" he asked.

Crane shook his head. "It's too modern a rudder and plane system. That configuration didn't show up until the Narwhale class, and this is a Harpoon class, it says so on the plaque." He pointed to the small gold plaque that was on the front of the table holding the model.

"It _was_ a Harpoon class to start with. Then she was retrofitted in '43 with this new system. You ask me, it never did us any good. She seemed to be pretty much the same as before, but maybe the Skipper just didn't know what to do about the new setup. He was as set in his ways as concrete."

"You served on her?"

"1941 to 1944. I was chief engineer. We toured the world together you could say, back in World War II. Did both the Pacific and the Atlantic theaters."

"Do you know who built the model, it's wonderful work."

The older man smiled, "Thanks. I built her. Mostly from memory, but I admit to a few blueprints here and there. It was the least I could do for her, after what she did for all of us, and it looks like the least is all she is going to get, dammit," a look of profound sadness crossed the wrinkled face.

"I'm sorry I don't understand," Crane said.

"No, I'm sorry. It's just that I had want so much to… oh never mind you don't need to listen to me whine." He waved it off. He looked up and down Crane's tall, slim, figure, and the cane he was unconsciously leaning on. "You're not exactly built like a submariner, but you know too much to not be one. You get invalided out?"

Crane was puzzled for a moment,and then looked down at his leg and the cane as if they belonged to someone else. "Oh no, I just on shore duty until my knee heals up enough to get past the doc." He put out his hand, "I'm Lee Crane, Naval Reserve."

The older man took the hand and gave it a firm shake. "I'm Hal O'Bannon. Master Chief, Retired 1962, and I'm betting you're an officer, I can still spot'em a mile off."

"Commander. Nice to meet you Master Chief." He glanced at the model, and pondered whether to ask the question that was in his mind. "If you don't mind, I'm going to be nosey and ask what you meant by saying what the boat did for you and what you can't do for the boat. Feel free to ignore me if you want. I won't be offended."

The Master Chief snorted. "You don't want to listen to my problems, Sir. I'm sure you have other things to do then to listen to the belly-achin' of some old salt."

"Actually Master Chief, " Crane said, and motioned to a bench that was against the wall, "I have nothing _but_ time. You'd be doing me a favor by sharing with me, take my mind off it for a while."

Another snort, "Wait'll you get old, Sir, _then_ you'll learn about how hard it is to pass the time. If you got nothing better to do, then come on."

Crane moved to the bench and took a seat, stretching his leg out with a wince. The older man took a seat beside. Crane reached a hand out and touched his arm. "Make it Lee, Master Chief."

"Hal, then, no standing on formality." O'Bannon seemed to withdraw into himself again for a moment, much as he had been when Crane had first seen him at the model. Then he shook his head and looked at Crane. " I guess I better begin with the beginning. Otherwise the rest won't make much sense.

"It began back in 1944. December. As a matter of fact it was this same day, two weeks before Christmas. We were scheduled to go into San Diego on leave. Don't know how the Skipper swung that, but he did, and we were so damn happy we woulda _paddled_ home if we had to. It had been a long time since the last leave, and that was in some place in South America where no one spoke English. So there we were, our last week before starting home. Frankly we were all just hoping to hang out in our patrol area, and stay out of trouble. By that time most of the merchant stuff had quit moving, and the Japanese military was concentrating on the islands near Iwo Jima and Okinawa. We had taken out a oil tanker the week before, and they must have gotten off a warning cause we hadn't see so much as a fishing boat for the rest of that week. We were on regular rotation, running on top at night, then at periscope depth during the day. There were planes out looking for us. But they had other things on their minds besides us, like I said. We were sure we were going to make it. 'Home free', that was the watchword of the day. Everyone was making plans. Then at 1900, the Skipper, he called the officers and us petty officers up to the conn. It was in what you boys call the 'sail' nowadays. Quite a trip from the engine room, and all that way I was wondering what had gone wrong."

The man paused, his eyes far away, and Crane knew he was once again walking through the passageways of the old submarine on his way to the control room. His own eyes traced the most likely route on the model before them and he could see the boat as it must have been, so much smaller than _Seaview_, a crew of 40 men and officers in a small enclosed space. There were no secrets, and less privacy. Everyone must have known about the call up, and would have been wondering what was going on.

The former Master Chief continued. "The Skipper had a message slip in his hand, and I felt my stomach drop. I knew that our leave was gone then. We were to move out of our area to act as escort for an important ship heading for some atoll we weren't told the name of, carrying some cargo we weren't supposed to ask about. We were relieving some other boat so that they could go back to their patrol area, which was heating up. There it was. The atoll was 300 miles north of where we were, and the ship was 100 miles south of us. Even if we hauled boat down and got them, and then hauled it back north at full speed, it was going to be two weeks at least. We'd miss our leave window, and it would be cancelled. You could practically hear the morale drop in the control room as the Skipper talked. What could you do though, refuse to go?" he sighed, reliving that moment of disappointment so long ago. Crane felt it himself, seeing the control room, and the men, in his mind's eye.

"We went, and we did our job. It was boring as hell, didn't see another ship the entire time. Barely saw any planes. It was like they were busy someplace else, and we were just out for a Sunday cruise. The ship dropped off whatever it was, and we headed back south. The boat we had relieved was scheduled to take them back to wherever they came from, and we passed the ship off on Christmas Eve. The night was pretty quiet. It was just after midnight and we were running on the surface, wondering what the cookie was going to come up with for Christmas dinner, when the claxon went off. There was a destroyer coming in. Coming in quick. I don't know if it was after us, or was hot-footing it after the ship, but they saw us and took a detour. We dove, and headed towards the bottom. It was over crush depth, but it was pretty broken up, so we had a good chance of hiding out, if we didn't implode. He was coming in too quick for us to get off a shot, and was bow on to us anyways, so even if we had time the shot was nearly impossible. He started dropping depth charges where he had last seen us, and covered the area. The Skipper got us down to crush depth, just about level with some of the taller seamounts so we blended in with their sonar signature, and we sat there listening to the charges going off, keeping quiet. She was straining from the depth, you could hear it as she creaked and groaned. I had a rivet pop out of the bulkhead and hit one of my stokers in the head. Let me tell you it ain't easy patching up little leaks when you can't make any noise. They kept up those charges for three hours on and off. Just wouldn't give up. Then one of my boys came running back about ready to burst. I thought he was going to pass out before he could tell me what he saw. He was stationed in the armory during battle stations, just down the passageway from the engine room, and had been sitting on the deck against the inner hull when he felt it start to bulge in. He thought it was going to burst at any second, and was just short of panicking, wanted us to clear the section and close the watertights. I sent off one of my guys to alert the captain, and went to take a look."

Hal paused for a moment, and shook his head, "I swear it's like it was yesterday. I can still see Mulvaney's face when he came through the door to engineering, white as a sheet, and eyes as big as a supper dish. I went down the passageway and went in the armory, and damned if it wasn't bulging in. Both the outer and inner hulls were bulging in more than two feet. The metal bent like plastic. It looked like it was pregnant. I have never seen anything like it. It should have shattered, not bent. The captain came down himself to take a look, and was as puzzled as I was. It wasn't like there was anything we could do. We couldn't surface. Even if the Japanese didn't fire on us we knew what they would do to us. We'd heard that they were shooting submarine crews, considered them fair game, because of the damage we'd done to their shipping. No Geneva Convention out there. But then how long could we just sit there? We didn't know how long it would go on holding, and once the pressure hull went, we were doomed. The watertight would seal off the whole aft section on that deck, including engineering. Besides the engines, there were the air scrubbers and circulation. Someone had to maintain those. We couldn't just seal it off and hope for the best, if one section went the others wouldn't be too far behind anyway. While we were looking at the bulge the charges had stopped. The Skipper, he went back to the control room to find out what was going on, and left me to watch. The destroyer was quartering the area, looking for some sign of us. We held our breath for another hour while they prowled back and forth. They finally gave up and left after that. Then the problem was what to do." He stopped.

Crane was thinking swiftly, as if he were the Skipper of the _Triggerfish_, trying to figure out what to do. Was the Japanese destroyer gone? Was it still dark enough on the surface to hide them from planes? Would the mere act of raising the boat cause the bulge to split, opening them to the sea, or causing a chain reaction implosion of the pressure hull? Just sitting there was not an option. They couldn't go out to make repairs. They couldn't do anything from inside. They _had_ to surface, but cautiously. "He took you up to periscope depth _very_ slowly. The he moved off at right angles to the destroyer, and took a look to see if they were around, and to see how dark it was." He muttered to himself, knowing it was what he would do. "Then he put some divers over the side to take a look and see what you could do before the sun came up, and you had to dive again."

The old man chuckled. "Thought so!" he said, slapping his own knee, "You're a sub commander. There's something in the eye. It's always there, that little bit of craziness, calculation, and general 'what the hell'. Nice to know I haven't lost my touch."

Crane smiled at him, blushing a little. "You know the saying 'you don't have to be crazy to command a submarine'…"

"...'but it helps'," the Master Chief finished, sharing the smile. Then he nodded. "That's what he did. The diver went over. One of the divers, Patrick Hennessey, had worked in the Groton yards as a boat builder for two years before joining up. He said the hull plates looked like someone had taken a piece of tin foil and formed it over a ball. . As we sat there for three hours, just below crush depth, the hull plates just… flowed in, bending instead of breaking. There wasn't anything to be done. We just headed back to base, and then back to the shipyards at San Diego. We got that leave, just a little late. They couldn't explain it. They replaced the plates, and took the old ones off to study. Never heard any explanation. We were all reassigned of course. I finished the war at Pearl, doing maintenance. Then after the war I went to COMSUBLANT and worked for Admiral Keating. Never saw the _Triggerfish_ again, but I always remember her. Always remember the gift she gave us that Christmas day. She watched over us, kept us alive so we could go home. She found a way to do it, and I wanted to return the favor, after all these years. But, it isn't going to work out."

"What do you mean? She should have been decommissioned and sold for scrap years ago, the Harpoons were only used until the beginning of the 60's at the latest."

"The Skipper, who later became Admiral Keating, well he was grateful too, and he arranged for her to be seconded to the Naval Academy for training purposes for almost 10 years, then she was at Groton, for another 10 as a kind of floating museum. For the last five she's been in mothballs up at Puget Sound Naval Base up in Washington. That's the problem. She's set to be scrapped next week. I had made arrangements…" He stopped, visibly upset.

"What arrangements?" Crane asked. He could understand the dedication someone could feel for a boat, he would do anything to preserve the _Seaview_ in similar circumstances, god forbid.

"I own a marine repair facility up the coast. I do the big yachts and such. Done pretty good for myself. Got more money than I know what to do with, and lots of space on the bay. We pooled our money, some of the other crewmen and I, and made a bid on her, intact, and in working order. We knew people who knew people, and it was all arranged. They would tow her down to my place, and she'd have a dock of her own, where people could come and see her, and she'd stay there, safe from the salvagers, at least for as long as any of us were around. But that's all gone to hell!" He stood and started pacing back and forth. His compact shape, fit even at his age, reminded Crane of Nelson pacing the nose of the _Seaview_.

"Why?"

"The Navy, in its infinite wisdom, has decided that since we have purchased it we get to move it, in the next week! Like we can just send a truck or something, or have it shipped UPS! Damn paper pushers! After all, we can just hire some submariners somewhere, and I'm sure they'll just happen to know how to operate a 30 year old submarine. We have to move it within the next week or she goes under the torch." The older man was getting red in the face, and pacing faster. Crane was getting slightly concerned, but then Hal sat down on the bench and seemed to calm down.

Crane considered for a moment. The Navy had spoken, and trying to get that to change would require way more time then was left. There had to be another way. Crane had every sympathy for the men of the _Triggerfish_, they were warriors from before his time, trying to preserve an old friend. He stopped at that thought… there was something there. He turned to the other man. "How many of your old crew are there?"

After a puzzled look, Hal replied " Twenty three, twenty seven, somewhere in there. Why?"

"Are they all like you, I mean active and healthy?"

"Yeah, most of them, I guess. Why?" Hal asked again.

"What's the minimum number of crew for a Harpoon class, 20 or 25?" Now Crane was on his feet, pacing back and forth in front of the bench. His cane clicking on the marble floor, as his mind raced ahead.

"Twenty minimum. What are you thinking of laddie? I can hear the gears grinding from here."

Crane stopped in front of him, and O'Bannon felt himself drawn to stand and meet the amber eyes of the younger man. _Oh boy_! he thought to himself, _there's that crazy gleam_. He felt a strange thrill, a thrill he hadn't felt since he had been on the _Triggerfish_ with then Captain Keating, hunting Japanese ships, and being hunted.

Crane grinned at him, "I think I know where your boat yard is. I definitely know where Puget Sound Naval Yard is. It's about 600 nautical miles. You say the_Triggerfish_ is in working order, does that include propulsion and control systems?"

"They were working 5 years ago when they brought her from the East coast. She's seaworthy. But there's no crew, man!"

"Sure there is. You just said that there were 23 or 27 of you. It's not like you'll be going into battle. You run her during the day, on the surface like any regular boat. Even if she's not capable of full speed she should be able to make 10 or 15 knots. There's about 8 hours of sunlight each day, so call it 8 days at the most. There are plenty of harbors and bays to put into at night. They put money into it, will they put in time?"

"These men are in their 60's and 70's man. Some of them haven't set foot on a sub since 1945."

"It's not like they're going to war. All they have to do is get it out of the Naval Yard, and keep it running for 8 days. I hold a Merchant Marine Captain's ticket so I'm qualified to navigate for you, I can act as First officer. You can be the owner/captain, and you'll have a Navy trained crew that is more than sufficient to run the boat so it's not a hazard to shipping. The Navy can't carp about anything, and neither can the civilian authorities."

"Maybe the Navy couldn't, but you have to understand…"

"Do you remember how to make the engines run?"

"Yes, but…"

"I'm sure with a few hours of refresher courses everyone else can remember too. I can help. I trained on a Narwhal class at Groton. There's not that much difference."

"Your knee…"

"It's not like there's a lot of walking involved, she's not that big. During the day I can sit in the control room, and at night when we put in to harbor I can get out and do the walking exercises. I know them better than the physical therapist does. I don't have anyone to report to since I'm beached. I'll just tell everyone I'm going out of town."

"What about fuel, and supplies, and…" Hal sputtered, overwhelmed by the energy of the younger man.

Crane waved a hand, "I can take care of that if you've got the money." Hal nodded, stunned by it all, "Good, I can start making phone calls when I get home." He pulled out a business card, and wrote his home number on it. "You get in touch with everyone and let me know when it's a go. If we hurry we can be back by Christmas. That seems like it would be poetic, it happened on Christmas, it should end on Christmas."

He started toward the doorway, his mind already filling with details to get ready to sail. Ships stores, fuel, docking permissions, charts, there was a lot to do.

Hal could only stand there and look after the young man, his jaw hanging open. He looked down at the card, reading it for the first time, Nelson Institute of Marine Research, Captain Lee Crane. There was a line drawing of a fantastic submarine behind the lettering. Hal's head shot up, the _Seaview_! That… kid…commanded one of the most powerful boats on the planet? Hal looked up at the model he had made of his old boat. Maybe this was going to happen after all.

Chapter 4

The phone calls had been funny in a way. The reactions had ranged from outright laughter to serious recommendations for a new doctor and heavy medication. But in the end, the men had come through. Only one person couldn't come due to a scheduled operation, but the rest had committed to the idea. Committed, that was just the right word. If this didn't work, they would all probably be committed. Hal O'Bannon looked again at the card that sat by the phone. A vision of the tall, slim, incredibly young man he had met at the museum flashed across his mind. He had made some other calls before he had contacted his old crewmates, calls to some friends at COMSUBLANT, and COMSUBPAC. Everyone had known Crane, had spoken highly of his skills. Youngest submarine commander ever, medals and commendations up the wazoo.

The 'kid' worked for Nelson, too. Hal had met Admiral Nelson. He was a brilliant man, but tended to be a bit difficult when he didn't get his way. The boy would have the connections to pull something like this off all right. The question was why would he bother? One of his contacts at COMSUBPAC, an aide for Jiggs Stark himself, had said that there were rumors that Crane talked to his boat, was even seen patting her bulkhead. If that was true then he understood how Hal and the others felt. How you became attached to a boat, trusted her to get you home in one piece, and would do anything for her. He picked up the phone and dialed. After two rings it was picked up, there was a silence, and then a distracted answer, "Crane."

"Commander? It's Hal O'Bannon."

"Oh, sorry Master Chief. I was going over my lists. I forgot how complicated this gets. Usually Chip takes care of it now. I think I know why I was happy to move on up to Captain, it's easier!" O'Bannon could hear papers shuffling in the background.

"I've contacted everyone, and since evidently insanity increases as you age, they've all agreed to come. Well except for one guy, he's having an operation, but he's sending a large check, so we should be well-covered money wise. All 23 guys will meet us at the Naval Yard on Thursday. Everyone thinks they can get it back pretty quick. Guess I'm not the only one that remembers those days so well."

"Great! I'll arrange a flight out for us on Wednesday night if that's all right. We can Red eye it into Seattle and rent a car to drive to the base. "

"Can you arrange to leave that quickly?" Hal asked, it was after all only the day after tomorrow, and any captain he had ever known always had paperwork plus to deal with.

"I've been banned from my desk! You'd think I held the pen with my toes or something. So all I have to do is notify the therapist, and then let NIMR security know where I'll be and that's it." There was a pause, "_Seaview_ is sailing tomorrow, so Chip and the Admiral don't need to know, and since Jaime is going too, he doesn't need to know either. Excellent! This is working out just right. I'll let the security guys know on Wednesday morning, and the therapist that afternoon at our session. No problems at all."

Hal had a momentary feeling that he was witness to a small boy running away from home, his belongings bundled up and tied to the end of a stick. He shook it off, and spoke. "Is there anything I can do to help out? I still have some contacts."

"Sure, I'd appreciate the help. Let me give you my address." The adventure was underway!

Chapter 5

Two days later, Hal O'Bannon was standing in the SEATAC airport, waiting for his new "Executive Officer" to finish renting a car so they could drive out to Puget Sound Naval Base. He had lost the argument with the younger man about paying for the car, as he had with Crane's plane ticket. The kid had a will of iron. Everything before him seemed to bend to it or else. He had seen that in the previous days as they dealt with the innumerable necessities of moving the boat. Crane had obtained a preprinted form from his own XO, and had deleted or added on as needed so that everything was listed, and checked off as it was completed.

They were ready to go, all they needed was a crew. They should be meeting everyone at the base. He hoped everyone had made it as planned. No one had called with problems, but you never knew, especially at their age. The average age of the crew was going to be 71. He had figured it out in a lull between trying to get provisions delivered, and the arrival of some Chinese food at around 11:30pm two nights before. At least _this_ officer knew how to work. He hadn't slowed down all day, except for a break for therapy midday. Good thing the kid had a game leg, or they would never be able to keep up with him even on a small boat. He was going to bear watching though. He didn't seem to realize he was injured, and tended to do stuff that Hal was pretty sure was not on the therapy regime.

Crane came back toward him, leaning more heavily on his cane than he had been. Hal suspected that his leg had stiffened on the plane flight, not that the man would say anything. Hal had been silent witness to the phone call Crane made to his therapist yesterday afternoon. Crane had evidently decided that a phone call would be better than in person. He had simply announced that he was going away for a 'few days' and wouldn't be in for his appointments. At the therapists question he had said he was going on a 'cruise', and that he would continue the exercises on his own. He had overridden the obvious objections, and had hung up and turned off his cell phone with a grin to Hal. "That'll get everyone whipped into a frenzy, but not until tomorrow, and by then we'll be gone." Once again a vision of that little boy running away came to mind. Knowing Admiral Nelson, Hal wasn't too sure that he wanted to be there when 'daddy' came to get his wayward boy, talk about the irresistible force and the immovable object! Crane handed O'Bannon the keys to the car and hefting his duffle, grabbing Hal's before he could object, began leading the way toward the parking area. Hal lifted his brief case, and with a curse under his breath, followed.

They reached the base gates an hour later, and Crane leaned across Hal and showed his ID to the Shore Patrol sergeant. Hal was surprised when the sergeant's eyes grew big, and he snapped to attention. "Good to see you again Commander! I wasn't aware that the _Seaview_ was in."

"Hi, Stanjowski. It was kind of a spur of the moment trip. The _Seaview_'s not here, Mr. O'Bannon, some of his friends, and I are taking one of the mothballed boats out. You should have the info on your board."

The sergeant looked at his clipboard, and looked back up at Crane. A big smile went across his face. "A mothballer, Sir? You get in trouble with the Admiral and get downsized?"

Crane laughed. "Not yet Phil, but give it time. This is kind of a sideline trip. Have any of the rest shown up?"

"Yes, Sir. Twenty-three people have checked in. We have them waiting at the Officers mess for you, the Admiral ain't too fond of people wondering around his base, if you know what I mean." He snickered.

Crane grinned back, obviously sharing a private joke with the other man, and said, "Thanks, Phil. Say hi to your wife for me. See you later."

The sergeant nodded, straightened and saluted as Hal moved the car forward. Hal cast a glance over at Crane who had settled back in his seat. "A bit of a history here?"

"You could say that. I kind of sneaked onto the base a year ago during a war game. I was a 'terrorist'. I managed to plant all my bombs except for the one on the Admiral's office where the Sergeant was on duty, and his wife works as a receptionist. He was… daunting."

Hal thought back to the 6'5" Marine that had greeted them. "Yeah, daunting would be the word I would use." He cast a speculative glance at Crane. "You know Commander, it's obvious that you have other things to do beside shepherding a old scow for eight days. Why are you doing this?"

"Well firstly, I _don't_ have anything better to do, except therapy, and that I can do by myself, wherever I am. As to the rest, I can't really go into it, but _Seaview_ has saved me, and the lives of my crew, many times by doing what she shouldn't have been able to. I would do anything to keep her from being scrapped, so I understand where you are coming from. I _have_ to help. I would want someone to help me, and since I _am_ able…" He shrugged.

Hal stared at him for a moment. He really was becoming quite fond of this young man. He nodded. "All right, enough said." They pulled up in front of the Officer Club, and found a parking space. "Let's go meet our crew."

Two hours later 25 men stood on a dock, looking at what had once been the USSN _Triggerfish_. She was painted with the dull gray of most of the naval fleet, but inattention had led to some large rust patches, giving the boat something of a diseased look. It was not a sight to raise the spirits of the crew. They glanced from the boat to each other, and finally fixed their gaze on O'Bannon and Crane who stood a little in front of the group. O'Bannon heaved a deep sigh.

"I knew she was mothballed, but I figured they would at least keep her from rusting out," he said in frustration.

Crane limped forward and put his hand against the hull, on one of the rusted spot. The plate was dry and hard; the rust was only on the surface. He smiled at Hal and turned to the rest. "She may not look good, but she's sound. The rust is only on the surface. Which of us can say we have no blemishes? She's had a hard time and is pushing forty, but I _know_ she'll get us where we want to go." He turned to Hal, and gestured toward the gangplank. "After you Captain," he said, with a formal bow. Hal snorted, shouldered his duffle, which he had wrestled out of the younger man's hand at the car, and with his briefcase in the other hand, boarded the boat he had left over 30 years before. The others followed, and they all filed into the boat through the conning tower hatch.

Crane stayed behind on the dock as planned, waved at the trucks that were waiting at dockside to unload. A group of sailors, off duty and looking for a little extra cash, stood by to help load the provisions and supplies. Fuel had already been loaded, per instructions. Crane fished a list out of his pocket, and wished for a clipboard, then he wished for a chair as his leg twinged. He straightened up, neither item was going to manifest, so he just needed to get on with it. Calling on his best Chip Morton impression, he bellowed at a sailor who was getting ready to climb up the side of the boat from the dock instead of using the gangplank. He smiled pleasantly at all as they looked at him with trepidation, somehow they had gotten the impression this was going to be easy work, oh well, they were being well paid, and he meant to see they did what needed to be done. He reached out and snagged a blue shirt on the last sailor that was boarding, and passed him a bundle. He murmured his instructions. The sailor nodded his head in understanding and went to carry out his mission. No way was he getting on the wrong side of this guy! He musta been a Master Chief in another life.

Chapter 6

'He went where?" the question echoed around the quiet control room from the radio shack, drawing Morton and Nelson's attention away from the charting table where they were going over a map of the area around the next drop off point. Nelson had heard there were some interesting rock formations located a few miles from the sphere, and he wanted to stop off and get some samples since they were in the area. The ocean plates off of the Pacific coast of North America were highly variable in their makeup, and provided many an exciting venue for Nelson's curiosity to be explored. They would be just under 400 miles from the coast of British Columbia, and before heading south toward the last drop point off of Northern California, Nelson intended to indulge himself, who knew when they would get back and have the time.

As they listened the voice continued, "No, he cannot do them on his own. He'll overdo it. I want him under supervision…" a pause. "Already gone? When?" There was a longer pause. "Wait, wait, wait… Give it to exactly as you got it." Nelson and Morton, curiosity peaked had now moved back to the radio shack, and stood watching as Jamieson listened closely to whatever was being said in the earphones. After a few minutes of intense listening, he gave a brisk "Thank You. I'll get back to you. Jamieson out." He practically threw the earphones back at Sparks.

Nelson and Morton exchanged knowing glances. There was only one person who could get the doctor _that_ worked up. Nelson took the initiative, as it seemed Jamieson was going to stand there and stew until he exploded.

"Problem, Jaime?"

"_Problem_?" He growled, "Of course there's a problem! I manage to pry the man out of his titanium second skin for a few weeks and get him the therapy that he _has_ to have, and what does he do? He goes on a cruise, and tells the therapist that he'll do his own therapy, _that's_ what he does! So, _yes_ there is a problem!"

Supposition regarding whom exactly they were speaking of confirmed, Nelson stood fast in the wave of the doctors anger. "A cruise, Lee? He hates surface ships except for small sail boats, and hates cruise ships even more, why would he go on a cruise?"

"Why would he do any stupid thing? To make me pull out what little hair I have left, I'm sure!" He glared at Chip when Morton failed to adequately hide the snort of laughter that came out. "He called the therapist yesterday afternoon, after his session, and told him that he would be going on a cruise, and wouldn't be back for 8 or 9 days. He promised to do his exercises, 'space permitting'. Though _what_ that means he wouldn't say." Jamieson was stalking back and forth across the control room. The duty crew were trying to keep their smiles hidden, not wanting to incur his wrath.

"Lee wouldn't just go on a cruise to irritate you Jamie. I tried to get him on a 3 day 'barefoot' cruise last year and he said there were too many people, and he preferred to sail himself. He knows he can't do that now, he'd never risk a boat by taking it out when he's not 100%." Morton said, his eyes sparkling from the suppressed laughter. Then he frowned, a nasty thought coming to him. He turned to Nelson, who was watching Jamieson stalk around, "ONI wouldn't…."

"_No_," Nelson said firmly, "they wouldn't. I told Smith over four weeks ago that if he called on Lee anytime before he was cleared for duty by _our_ doctor, they could forget any future help from NIMR, or the _Seaview_." He smiled at Morton, "I wanted to make sure that they didn't seize the opportunity, since Lee wouldn't turn them down." He hooked Jaime's arm as he paced by. "Come on. You need a cup of coffee, and you can tell me what the therapist told you exactly." He nodded at Chip, and dragged the doctor out of the aft hatch.

Chip cast a quick look around the control room, noting the heads lowering back over the stations, and went back to the chart table, not bothering to hide his own smile. "Oh Lee," he thought, "you stepped in it big time now, brother." Once again his smile turned to a frown. Crane would no more go on a cruise ship by choice then he would volunteer to carry civilians around on his boat. Lee was up to something, and that usually didn't bode well for Lee continued good health. The man was a trouble magnet. Morton thought back to the last time he had seen his friend. Lee had been angry, and wouldn't even acknowledge his wave. Repeated calls and a visit to Lee's apartment had gotten him nothing. Morton regretted that he had to have played the bad guy, and knew that Lee would come around in time. Chip had figured he would appear on Lee's doorstep after the cruise with a bottle of good wine and an invitation to a fine dinner, and that would be that. Well, it might be delayed a little, but he would make it up to his friend, and he would find out exactly what was going on.

Chapter 7

O'Bannon looked around at the men in the control room. Familiar faces from his dreams looked back at him cloaked in the changes time had stamped on them. The one unfamiliar face, that of Lee Crane, was also there, checking gauges and boards, he finally turned and faced O'Bannon. "All's ready to move out, Sir. On your order."

The kid persisted in this silly, 'you are the Captain' thing. Hal had watched the young man sweep through the boat, from stem to stern, making sure that everyone was confident in their duties, and that everything was ship shape, or at least as much so as could be expected from a 40 year old warhorse put out to pasture some years before. He had come to believe that the man could take her out to sea by himself should the need arise, the rest of them just seemed to be along for the ride, and tolerated as necessary equipment. He had watched the gleam in the amber eyes grow from the first moment the kid had set foot in the control room. He had even caught the younger man patting an old bulkhead once when he had gone down to see how the supply storage was going. "Romancing an older woman," he had thought with a mental laugh, and had pretended he saw nothing when Crane had turned to report the progress.

Hal looked once again around at his old shipmates, whose eyes were now turned to him. It was time to get going. He had lost count of the number of times that the_Triggerfish_ had left one port or another during the war. They had gone many times with the knowledge she might not return, but this time it was different. She was going to what would be her final resting place. A place of honor, where future generations could see what previous generations had done to keep the world safe from tyrants. He had already had a brass plaque commissioned detailing her sterling war record, and her service afterward. They had collected enough money to have her completely careened, de-rusted, and repainted. She would shine once again. He nodded his head, "Very well, take her out Mister." Might as well let the expert do the work, after all he was just a grease monkey who had made good.

Crane smiled at him, and began giving orders. Lines were released, and the engines brought up to maneuvering speed. With the helm held hard over, they slowly began to move away from the dock. The _Triggerfish_ was underway!

It was almost an hour later before they cleared the mouth of the Sound, and were in the open sea. It was cold, and a drizzle, which had been around all morning, persisted. The winds were mostly calm though, with rolling 7-foot waves pushing them from behind. They had taken her up to half speed, the most any one would advise, and were headed south at around 12 knots. The extra push from the waves was a nice bonus. Everyone seemed to be settling in on the job, though the cook, a 72-year-old owner of a five star restaurant in New York, complained that the supplies left a lot to be desired. Then he produced a pot of coffee that could have taken the rust off the hull, just like old times, and it was being drunk by the gallons. A few of the men had found that their sea legs had disappeared with their youth, and were a little green around the gills. Those with foresight had brought Dramamine, and were also doing a brisk business in 'black market' whisky to cut the coffee with.

O'Bannon went up the conning tower ladder and climbed out the hatch to the bridge, slipping into a parka as he did so. "Those hatch covers are a lot heavier now than they used to be," he thought as he lowered it back into place to keep out the drizzle. He turned to find Crane, wrapped in a poncho, with binoculars to his eyes, scanning the horizons. Hal shook his head. He had wondered where the kid had gotten off to. It was too much to hope that he might have been slumming in the wardroom, or taking a moment to rest his leg. Hal was beginning to suspect that he would have to keep a close eye on the man to keep him from overdoing. It was like having a hyperactive child in his care. He hoped that Admiral Nelson appreciated the time off. He smiled to himself at the vision of an Admiral babysitting a Captain.

He moved up to stand by Crane, and as he did so his attention was snagged by the snapping of canvas above his head. He looked up, and suddenly found himself blinking hard to clear the moisture from his eyes. A United States flag flew at the top of the mast, and beneath it was a USSN _TRIGGERFISH_ flag. Just as had flown from there so long before. He couldn't help him self, he turned and grabbed the slim figure in his arms and gave him a bear hug.

"I don't know how you did it, I don't think I want to know because I can never repay it, but thank you for the standard," he whispered gruffly in Crane's ear as he pounded his back. When he backed way, he was amused to see the younger man blushing. A shy smile followed, and the two men went to lean on the edge of the conning tower. Hal could not count the number of nights he had spent up here with his Captain, smoking and talking about what they would do 'after the war'. It had been a small time of comfort in the midst of war, and Hal felt that comfort again here with this man.

"We're going to make it," he said, not realizing until now that he had any doubt about it.

Crane turned his eyes to him, and smiled, "Of course we are," he said with assurance.

Hal reached out and placed a hand on Crane's shoulder, and gave it a little shake. "This is an order from your Captain. Get someone else up here to stand lookout, we're not delicate just because we're old you know. Then you have some exercises to do I believe. There should be room in the Captain's quarters so you can have some privacy. That's an order. I believe you know how to take one of those Commander."

"Aye Aye, Sir," the younger man said, and snapped off a salute, body at attention. "If it please the Captain, Mr. Peterson will be up in five minutes to relieve me, may I wait, or do I need to have him come up now?"

"Don't get smart Mister. I believe in Keel hauling," Hal said trying to keep a straight face.

They shared the remaining time in silence, just enjoying the feeling of being at sea.

Chapter 8

Three days later Hal was working his way down the narrow corridor that traversed the boat, when he heard the laughter coming from the wardroom. He poked his head around the corner, and smiled at the sight. There were about five of his old crewmates, not including Cookie hanging out of the galley's serving window, regaling an obviously interested audience of one with stories of the 'glory days' of submarining. None of the other men knew that Crane was Captain of one of the largest boats in existence, and were determined to shock and astound the kid with their pigboat knowledge and the life of danger they had led. He stifled a laugh, and putting on a stern face marched into the room.

"Don't you pikers have something you could be doing beside goldbricking in the wardroom? We're supposed to be hauling anchor in about 5 minutes, unless you gentlemen object that is."

With good-natured grumbling everyone dispersed, Lee Crane smirking at him as he passed by on his way to the control room. Hal moved up to the big coffee pot next to where Cookie leaned, and got himself a cup. It was dark and looked very dangerous. Lovely, just what he needed! He swallowed it down, and then looked up to find Cookie staring at him. Cookie, more commonly known as Michael C. Hanover, most often seen presiding over his restaurant in a Seville Row suit, was dressed in jeans, an old white tee shirt, with an apron of dubious cleanliness wrapped around his waist. In his eyes was a happiness that had not been there at the last reunion they had attended. The boredom was gone, also. At this moment there was a quizzical light in their depths.

"So, how long have you known Crane?" Hanover said, taking a sip out of his own cup. Hal sensed a deeper meaning behind the question, but wasn't sure what exactly.

"I met him almost a week ago, at a museum in Santa Barbara. Why?" he said. He moved to sit at one of the tables. The top of the table was still scarred with the many years of carvings that various crewmembers had inflicted on it. Hal himself had scratched something about his latest girl those many years ago.

"Santa Barbara. That makes sense. You know who he is?" Cookie came out to sit across from O'Bannon, shrewd eyes studying him.

"I know he's a qualified submariner. I know he wanted to help. Anything else doesn't matter. He's happy with that, and so am I."

Cookie smiled. "I guess I don't need to mention a certain party of Naval officers that happened to dine in my establishment when a certain boat was docked in the harbor."

"No, I guess you don't."

"Do you think we could have made the deadline without him?"

"Maybe, but probably not. I would have had a hell of a time getting the clearances at the very least. I don't have the current contacts. All my friends and cronies are either dead or retired."

"So we owe him big time. He's obviously on medical leave with that leg. Are you paying him?"

"Wouldn't take it. Said he was bored and needed something to do."

"Sounds like the rest of us. We'll have to make sure that Santa puts something good in his stocking."

The two men nodded to each other, and O'Bannon rose to his feet to go take the boat out for another day long run South.

Chapter 9

Morton frowned as he looked over the clipboard that Kowalski had just handed him. The computer had spit out a listing of seismic activity around the small deep-sea lab that they were approaching. Radio messages from the lab had reported a cluster of small to medium tremblers over the last 12 hours. Scientists on hand were feeling that there would be an escalation in the next few hours. The lab was located in a narrow valley, just big enough for _Seaview_ to enter, and was supposedly built to withstand shocks up to 8.0 on the Richter scale. They did not feel that the quakes would approach that level. The problem was the access routes. There were only two ways that a vessel the size of _Seaview_ could approach the lab to hook up to the airlocks. Should there be a large quake, those access routes could be cut off, leaving the lab without provisions, or emergency help if needed. They would eventually be able to get out, but not without help. Usually the flying sub could be used in these kinds of circumstances, but a continuing niggling problem with the propulsion system ruled out the small vessel as a possibility. Engineering swore it was just the FS1 in a snit about the Skipper not being there and not a mechanical problem, but they were working on it.

Morton was sanguine on the ability of the small sphere to withstand a quake of any size, it seemed a little too rickety to him, as if the engineers had simply done the get by, and the lowest bidder had completed the project. He'd stick to the _Seaview_, thank you very much. His feeling was that the scientists should be evacuated to the_Seaview_ until the activity died down, and then returned. Unfortunately, that still meant the _Seaview_ had to be able to get in to the lab. He really didn't want to be down there when a quake of any size hit. Also, persuading the scientists to come out was proving difficult. They were geologists, and like most scientists of Chip's acquaintance, were more interested in the phenomena then in staying safe. "Stubborn mules" Morton thought. Nelson, who understood the mindset, was talking to the scientist in charge, trying to get him to see reason and have everyone ready for a quick evacuation that would limit the amount of time that _Seaview_ would be in the narrow valley. It seemed to be an uphill battle, but Morton had faith in Nelson's combined bullying and persuasive powers. He had heard Nelson mention _Seaview_'s state of the art computer systems and remote sensing units, and that seemed to be throwing the tide in his favor. "Just a matter of using the right carrot" Chip thought to himself, and smiled.

Just then Kowalski, who had returned to his duty station on the hydrophone, yelled out, "Mr. Morton, _major_ turbulence coming our way, 10 seconds, Sir!"

Chip snatched up the microphone and barked, "All hands brace for turbulence, NOW." He grabbed a hold of the periscope island railing, seeing Nelson also bracing in the nose. Suddenly the boat was rolling wildly from side to side. Loose items shot through out the control room like missiles. Then the turbulence passed, and everyone focused back on his duty station. Morton was instantly on the microphone calling for damage control. Sharkey, who had been overseeing the control room, went over to the computer, and tore off the printout, handing it to Nelson who appeared at his shoulder.

"6.8 on the Richter. Located three miles down, and ten miles away from here." Nelson read off. He turned to Sparks, "Contact the lab again, find out how they fared," he turned to Patterson on sonar. "Patterson, get me some readings on the access routes into the lab, I want to know if they are clear."

"Aye Sir," was heard from both men. Chip came to stand by Nelson near the radio shack, and waited for the lab to answer. Damage control had reported no damage to the boat, and only minor injuries. He hoped the lab had fared as well.

"I've got Dr. Scott, Sir," said Sparks, handing the microphone to Nelson. "Their signal is weaker than it was Sir. I think they may have had some damage to their antennae."

"Dr. Scott this is Nelson, How are you all?"

"Nelson! You were right. We should have gone with you before. We're taking on water in two of the eight compartments. One of those compartments is our Air Circulation Control. My engineer thinks that we'll lose air production in about 3 hours, and we'll have air for about 3 hours after that. Environmental Control will be gone too, so it's going to get cold before it gets 'stuffy' as my engineer puts it. Please, Nelson, can you come take us out of here?"

"We're looking into that now. Try to stay calm, and keep the others calm. Your air will last longer. We're taking sonar readings on the access routes now. We'll let you know as soon as possible. If we can't get in, someone else will be able to, it'll be fine." Nelson spoke in his calmest, most reassuring, voice. "Nelson out." He handed the microphone back to Sparks, and with Chip in tow headed over to the sonar station where Patterson was working feverishly.

As they came to a stop, Patterson looked up and shook his head. "The western passage is narrowed Sir. We'd never be able to get through. I'm running the eastern side now."

"Damn," Nelson said. "Even if it's open we'd have to go in and then back out the same way. The eastern approach was always the narrower of the two. It'll be damn tricky getting out."

"I'll tell Lee you're the one who scrapped the paint this time, Admiral. That way he can get mad at you." Morton replied. He was reviewing the topography of the passage in his head, and knew they could do it, but it would be very hairy, and not good for the paint. Lee would have a fit.

"I think not Commander. As an Admiral I get to assign blame, as a Commander you get to accept it. I suggest you begin looking for another scapegoat," Nelson said.

"Aye Sir. Search is underway."

Patterson looked up, and even before he spoke the senior officers knew the news was not good. "It's no good Sirs. The eastern passage took debris too. We' can't get through either side. It would take a boat half our width, and about three quarters of our length to get in and out. "

"Double damn." Nelson said, "Sparks, get on to COMSUBPAC. Find out what they have in the area, and if they can get here within six hours, five would be better."

"Aye Sir," Sparks said

"I better talk to Scott." Nelson said to Morton "The longer we wait the worse they'll believe the situation to be. They need to stay calm. Have Sparks patch me through while he waits for COMSUBPAC to respond, and pipe it up to me in the nose."

"Aye Sir," Chip muttered as he watched Nelson walk toward the nose, not envying him his duty. He wracked his brain trying to think of another alternative, some other way to get the _Seaview_ in to the lab, but nothing came to mind. He sighed, and wished Lee were here. Morton knew that while he was a good Commander, capable of doing everything that was necessary to captain the boat, he didn't have the same instinctive feel for it that Lee did. While Morton was technically proficient, the difference was like some one who could play a piano, and a Mozart. He could not help but think that Lee would find a way. He turned back to the chart table, and began plotting a course to keep them in the area, but out of the way of the rescue effort.

Chapter 10

Crane was looking over a chart when the boat began to pitch wildly. A series of big waves passed under the boat, causing a minor panic, and spilling Cookie's midday meal. The waves had come from behind them, and had either been generated nearby, or from a very powerful earthquake farther away. Crane had experienced enough seismic wave turbulence to recognize it even on the surface.

He moved across the control room to the radio operator. "Is there anything on the radio about an earthquake at sea?"

"Is that what that was?" Hal O'Bannon had come to stand beside Crane.

"I think so." They watched as the radio operator searched the frequencies for anything, and finally queried a harbormaster he knew on the coast.

"My friend says there was a 6.8 about five miles from here. No damage on land," the operator said, he was a mechanical engineer who had worked for various computer companies before retiring. He always credited his experiences with radio and electronics in the Navy with making him go to college and learn the trade that had made him if not rich, at least very well off. He still tinkered with computers, and had some very exciting ideas about small compact sized computers that almost everyone could use. He was very pleased that he had been able to get away to do this for the old boat. He was enjoying it very much.

Hal reached out and patted his shoulder, "Thanks Bob, let us know if you get anything else." He then looked at Crane. "If the cursing is any indication lunch is going to be a bit late today. If you want to get your exercises out of the way, I'll stay here." Crane nodded and headed aft to the wardroom. He could hear Cookie muttering in the galley. He did his exercises as the therapist had taught him, and he shook his head as he realized that the Cookie was still cursing, and hadn't repeated himself. When he finished his knee was sore, but he felt it was getting better. He sat down, and put some sport liniment on it, massaging it in until the heating action dulled the ache. He looked up to see Cookie hanging out the serving window watching him. As he did, the man smiled and spoke.

"You know, the smell of Ben Gay isn't so foreign in my age group. It's funny that the one guy on the boat that shouldn't need it is the one that always has that faint 'odure'."

Lee smiled at him, and finished rubbing in the liniment. "I hope I'm in as good a shape as all of you when I get to your age. If my Chief… doctor has anything to say about it I will be, but only if I do the exercises."

The cook smiled again at the near slip. He suspected that the 'doctor' was in fact the Chief Medical Officer of the Nelson Institute of Marine Research. He kept his own council on that however, and nodded toward the door. "You've got time for a quick shower before lunch is ready if you like."

"Oh boy! A cold, 3 minute shower, I can't wait. What's for lunch? I understand there was a small 'problem' with the regular menu."

"Smart ass. I'll give _you_ a small problem. I already noticed you don't even bother to try my breakfast, you going to give lunch a pass too? Eat on land at one of those dockside diners, get ptomaine poisoning or something?"

"Not guilty. I never eat much, drives… certain people nuts. Just not in the habit I guess. Your food is great. I'd like to get some of your recipes for… a friend of mine, if you were willing to share that is." Crane headed toward the door, intent on taking that shower, cold as it would be.

Cookie nearly burst with suppressed laughter as the man avoided mentioning another cook that he no doubt dealt with on a daily basis. After all your average Naval Reserve commander did not have a cook to concern himself with. "You let me know which ones you want, I'll write them down for you." Crane nodded and left the room. The cook let the laughter out once he was sure the younger man was gone. It was fun playing with him. He should just come out and tell the kid that he knew who he was, but that would take away some of the joy of this trip. After all, if you can't torment your crewmates, whom can you torment?

Chapter 11

Crane was just getting dressed the next morning, having spent the night on the boat, when O'Bannon came on over the tannoy system. "Commander Crane to the control room." Crane had been up most of the night fixing an electrical fault in the plane control system, and had slept through the boat leaving port. He had enjoyed the feeling of sleeping on the boat. It was soothing.

He glanced at the small travel clock that he had brought with him, perched precariously on the fold down sink that made up the amenities of the officers quarters. 0630. When she was an operational boat, there would be three officers in this small space. As it was he could touch the opposite walls by spreading his arms. He finished dressing quickly, and made his way to the control room. O'Bannon and several of the others were gathered around the radio station.

Hal noted his arrival and waved him over. "You need to hear this." He looked down at Bob, "Play that back for him."

A few switches were flipped then Crane stiffened as a familiar voice came over the speaker. "This is USRN _Seaview_ calling any submersible vessel in the vicinity of 58 degrees North by 160 degrees west. We have an urgent need of assistance in the next 6 hours. Any submersible please respond."

Bob, the radio operator, cut it off as it began to repeat. "I've been listening for the replies. So far everyone is more than 2 hours too far away. They don't specify what the emergency is."

Crane looked at Hal, alarm in his eyes. Hal felt a need to take that alarm away. "We are, technically, a submersible vessel, kiddo. And at our current speed we are less than 4 hours away."

"She hasn't been tested at depth…"

"The specs were all met. Before I bought her I insisted that they take her on a trial run, to verify she was in complete working order. I have a certificate to that effect in my briefcase. We've gotten her this far, I think we can take her down and help your boat."

Lee stood looking at him for a moment then looked around. "I think that needs to be put to everyone. They are all taking the chance, there's no telling what might have to be done. We may not even be able to help. There'll be more fuel to buy, and we'll be behind schedule."

"You're right everyone gets a vote, as to the fuel and the time that don't matter. Someone needs help, and it's our obligation to help if we can. If there is someone who doesn't want to go, we can put them off on land and still make the time." Hal ordered the boat to full stop, and sent several of the men throughout the ship to tell everyone what was going on, and what was suggested. In a matter of moments everyone was back, and no one had elected to leave. Hal got them moving again in the correct direction, and then turned back to the radio station.

"Okay then, we need to contact the _Seaview_ and find out if we can even help. Do you want to do that?" Hal said looking at Crane.

Lee shook his head, and smiled slightly, "You're the Captain and owner, that's your job."

"Aren't we full of it this morning?" He turned back to Bob, "Put us through, Bob."

Bob nodded and flipped a few switches, "USRN _Seaview_ this is the submarine _Triggerfish_, USRN _Seaview_ this is submarine _Triggerfish_ responding to your call for assistance."

There was a pause then Sparks replied "_Triggerfish_ this is USRN _Seaview_ are you a submersible?"

"We are indeed _Seaview_, and we are just over 4 hours from the stated position. Please state your emergency."

"Stand by _Triggerfish_, I am putting on Admiral Nelson."

Lee let out a sigh of relief as Nelson came on, at least nothing had happened to him. "_Triggerfish_ this is Admiral Harriman Nelson. We are in position over the Harris-Perkins Oceanic Geological lab. They took heavy damage in the earthquake, and will be out of air in just over 5 hours now. We cannot maneuver in to their air lock, we are too big, and no one else is in range. May I ask your configuration?"

"_Seaview_ this is _Triggerfish_, Hal O'Bannon commanding. We are 153 feet stem to stern and 40 feet wide amidships. Do they have some kind of special airlock setup, we are pretty… primitive in that aspect."

"Perfect, you should be able to maneuver in with no problem. As to the match up, do you have a conning tower with a standard hatch?"

"Indeed we do. We're coming toward you now, at our top speed. If we can wring a bit more out of her we'll be there in 4 hours or less."

"We'll be waiting _Triggerfish_, _Seaview_ out."

"Think they'll be a little under impressed when we arrive?" Hal said, smiling at Crane.

Lee shook his head. "The Admiral doesn't care how something looks, as long as it does the job. He commanded a Narwhal class before he took over the _Nautalis_, and went on to build the _Seaview_. He'll respect her for what she is, and her crew."

Hal nodded, he had heard many stories about Nelson. None had mention snobbery or contempt for lesser machines than his magnificent _Seaview_. "We'd make better time underwater. Should we try her out?"

Crane looked around the control room, making sure all the stations were manned. Everyone was there, except for the Sonar station. None of the old crew knew how to work it. Crane had not foreseen the need for anyone on the station, given they were supposed to stay on the surface, and were able to use charts to stay in channels and clear of navigation hazards. He was the only qualified operator on board, so after a quick look at all the gauges he moved to sit down at the sonar station, and started it up, allowing the machine to warm up. "Sonar will be ready in five, should I bring down the lookouts and seal the hatches?"

"Sounds like a plan. I'll let the rest know. Better start out shallow, just in case. Do you know how deep the lab is?"

"Four hundred twelve feet and 6 inches," Crane smirked at him.

"Smart ass. Just for that you get to dock it." Hal turned, hiding his smile. Now this was exciting! The old girl was going to get to go out with a bang, not just a whimper. He moved off down the corridor as Crane's voice came over the tannoy.

"Prepare to dive. Look outs below. Secure all hatches and watertight doors."

Chapter 11

Nelson was pacing in the nose, reading over the latest information from the computer. Increasingly panicked calls from the lab were grating on everyone's nerves. The assurance that a submarine capable of taking off the scientists in time was on the way had calmed everyone for a bit, but the calls were increasing in frequency and anxiety. Nelson glanced at the chronometer. The Triggerfish was on it's way, and should be here at anytime. They had no information on the other boat, but had to trust that they were capable. Nelson looked toward the hatch to the Flying Sub, where the engineers were tearing apart the propulsion system in a sort of emergency back up plan. Things were not looking good.

Suddenly Morton appeared at his shoulder. "Patterson is getting something at extreme range, Sir. It's coming from the right direction to be the _Triggerfish_."

"Good. Have Sparks make contact."

"Aye Sir." Morton went back to the radio shack, while Nelson moved to stand behind Patterson. The senior rating was listening to his earphones with some intensity, his brow furrowed.

"What is it Pat?" Nelson asked. "More turbulence?"

"Ah..No, Sir. It's another submarine alright, but… I'd swear it's a diesel, moving at about 17 knots and heading right for us." Paterson looked at Nelson, looking for someone to agree that something wasn't right. _Nobody_ who waas anybody used diesels anymore.

Nelson raised an eyebrow, and picked up the second set of earphones and listened for himself. A few moments of hearing the approaching sounds were all he needed. "It is a diesel. You're not going crazy. If I'm not mistaken that is a Harpoon class submarine. It seems our rescuers are somewhat… primitive indeed." He said, remembering the Captain of the _Triggerfish_ using the term.

Morton had come over to let Nelson know they had the _Triggerfish_ on the radio, and had heard. "Harpoon class! Can the thing even get down to that depth?" He had seen one, but had never been on one of the old boats. Lee was the old pigboat fan. Give Chip a nuclear sub, preferably the _Seaview_.

"The Harpoons had a crush depth of just over 500 feet. She'll do fine. I wonder who owns her. There are very few of them left, most have been scrapped."

Morton reached for the nearest microphone and handed it to Nelson. "I suggest you ask them. O'Bannon is on the line."

Nelson took the microphone and spoke "Mr. O'Bannon you made good time. I must admit we didn't suspect that you were in a vintage submarine. May I ask who you are affiliated with, are you a research vessel?"

"I guess you could say we're unaffiliated, and unemployed. For lack of a better explanation, we're just out of mothballs on the way to a well-deserved rest. A comment that could be true about boat _and_ crew now that I think about it." The control room crew could hear laughter in the background, Nelson heard a laugh that for a moment struck him as familiar, but he pushed the thought aside.

"Well, the more power to you. I would like a tour when we've completed the rescue if that would be all right. It's been a long time since I've seen a Harpoon class. I trained on one at Groton."

"Our pleasure. I'll have my XO talk to your XO when we're done. I understand that we have to do some fancy maneuvering to get into this place. We assume since you_can't_ get in that things have changed from the usual."

"Yes… There were rock falls during the earthquake. You won't have any problem, but we're a bit… wide in the beam if you will."

"Don't worry Admiral. We all put on a little weight as we age, nothing to be ashamed of." Groans could be heard from the other boat. "After I put down the mutiny, Admiral, we should be ready to go. How many people are at the lab? We have room for about 20. Not a lot of room, but it's better than where they are at, and it's not like they are going to have to hot rack back to the mainland with us." Hot racking was an old practice on the WWII boats and even later when space was at a premium, and crewmen had to share bunks. Sometimes the bunk was still warm from the last occupant, hence the name hot racking.

"There are fourteen. We have some charts of the area, we can give you some headings for the passages."

"That's all right Admiral. We have charts of the area. My XO is evidently way more insane than I knew. He has charts for most of the Pacific with him, and we got it covered. He's done this kind of stuff before on bigger boats than this, so he'll be doing the maneuvering. I'll stay on the line."

Nelson and Morton exchanged glances. Morton shrugged. He didn't know what to think. Nelson returned the shrug. "Very well Captain. We'll stand by to help any way we can. I'll have our radio operator inform the lab that you are coming and have them ready to disembark."

"Thank you Admiral. We really don't want to stay any longer than necessary. I am not really fond of the idea of being down there when an aftershock hits."

"I understand. We'll try to give you warning if we can."

"Thanks. We'll be passing by under your bow. Wish we could wave, but I'm afraid our amenities don't run to windows."

"From what I recall," Nelson said dryly, " your amenities barely run to showers."

More laughter was heard from the speaker, "I am told by my XO that three minutes of cold water is _more_ than sufficient to start the day with. _Triggerfish_ out."

"_Seaview_ out" Nelson replied and hung up the microphone. He looked thoughtfully at Morton, thinking there was something very familiar about the men on that sub. Then he shook his head. Where had _that_ idea come from? He was sure that he didn't know anyone who would be on a WWII submarine.

He went to the nose, Chip right behind him, and watched as the old submarine appeared out of the undersea murk, and crossed in front of the _Seaview_. Before she disappeared once again, they could see that the gray hull was dotted with darker rust patches. The two men exchanged glances. "I guess he wasn't kidding when he said from out of mothballs." Morton said scratching his head. This was getting more and more bizarre. He almost felt like looking around for a ghostly submarine captain to be lurking nearby, but he squelched that thought quickly. This was going to be interesting. "We should be able to watch them on the nose camera Admiral, should I turn it on?"

Nelson nodded, and gazed thoughtfully after the old submarine. Stranger and stranger.

Chapter 12

Things had gone smoothly on the way in. The XO of the _Triggerfish_ did the job like he had been doing it for years. The captain had said that all of his available crew were in the control room, watching the performance. This was something no one wanted to miss. Nelson and Morton felt the same way and watched via the nose camera

As the boat came to a stop, and they gently blew ballast, there was a triumphant yell from the lab, which was on the radio on yet another channel. Nelson lifted the microphone that he had been holding.

"Wonderful job _Triggerfish_! The lab shows a complete connection. I have only seen one person make that on the first try before. I want to meet your XO. I could have a job for him if he is interested. Anyone who can maneuver a boat like that would be welcome."

O'Bannon came back on the radio, laughter in his voice, "I don't think you could afford this guy Admiral. He's kind of high maintenance." There was a pause. "We're opening the hatch now. Whoa… Hey! You there, wait till the man gets out of the way. What are you some kind of knucklehead? It's not like we're leaving without you. Now get over there and stand still until someone tells you where to go." The _Seaview_ crew barely held their laughter. Nelson raised an eyebrow at Chip, who was smiling.

"Uh... Mr. O'Bannon. You wouldn't happen to be a C.O.B. would you?" Nelson asked, winking at Sharkey who was grinning from the charting table.

"As a matter of fact, I was. Master Chief, 25 years. Earned my Chief status on this boat as a matter of fact, 1943."

"1943!" Nelson said, in amazement. "But that would mean you're..."

"Old," came the reply succinctly.

Nelson wasn't sure how to respond. He himself was in his 60's and planned to be around on the _Seaview_ for some time to come, so he couldn't exactly make any comments, but on a diesel relic? The Captain's cabin was a six by five box. And that was one of the bigger compartments!

The other man had evidently decided that no reply was forthcoming, and went on. "We have 14 on board. I don't think they needed your prompting to be ready to go. They practically pushed my man down the ladder, and are cluttering up my control room in a fine fashion. I say we get out of here and meet you on the surface, where you can have take these… people off my hands. _Triggerfish_ out."

"Agreed, Captain. We'll meet you there. _Seaview_ out." Nelson hung up the microphone again. "Chip, we'll wait until they clear the passage and then follow them up."

"Aye Sir."

Nelson smiled at the screen as he watched the old boat move out from beneath the lab. It looked like everything was working out just fine.

Chapter 13

Hal made his way back through the passageway toward the control room. He had led the scientists, who were to say the least not impressed by the boat, back to the wardroom where Cookie had promised to keep them out of trouble until they could reach the surface. Considering the amount of money spent on their lab, and the fact they were used to the _Seaview_ dropping by with supplies, he really couldn't blame them, but she had done the job, and he was proud of her. He reached out a hand, and patted her bulkhead. Just as he did, he had the strangest feeling that the boat was purring, like a big cat. Happy and content.

He shook off the feeling as he entered the control room, now emptied of unoccupied crew and passengers. Crane was still at the Sonar, and took off his earphone as Hal came up behind him. He turned to face his Captain.

"We're clear of the passageway, and are ready to surface at your order. The _Seaview_ is standing off about 100 yards, and it looks like they are waiting for us to go first."

"Age before beauty huh?"

Crane grinned, "What can I say. I'm a little partial."

"Can't argue with you there. Let's go ahead and surface then."

Crane reached for a microphone, and hit the claxon button. "Surface, surface, blow all ballast," he announced over the tannoy system.

The boat took on that weightless feel that came when she started to rise swiftly, and Crane spoke to the helmsman. "Five degrees up bubble Mr. Holmgren. Keep her on the current course."

"Aye, Sir," came the reply from Stan Holmgren, retired schoolteacher, having the time of his life. If only his students could see him now. No more comments about 'Stodgy old Stan'.

Crane was returning to the sonar station when a radio message came over the speaker "_Triggerfish,_ turbulence, three seconds." It was Spark's voice. Everyone grabbed for something solid. Only Crane, in the space between the helm and sonar was without a handhold. The boat began rolling wildly. Hal made a swipe at the younger man's arm as he plunged past, but was not able to get him. He grimaced as he saw Crane hit the bulkhead headfirst. The man fell limply to the deck, and rolled with the boat. Hal swore, and hung on grimly, his eyes locked on Crane's unconscious form.

He could hear yells and cursing coming from the crew as the rolling seemed to go on forever. Finally the rolling slowed, and he was able to rush to the still form of the younger man. Crane lay on his right side, and Hal swore again as he saw that the left side of his face was covered in blood from a ugly looking cut above his hairline. Hal scrabbled for a handkerchief from his pocket, and pressed it to the cut. He looked around at the rest of the control room crew. Hansen, the ballast operator, was looking at him with huge eyes, and a gaping mouth.

"Hanson, get on the tannoy and see if anyone else is hurt. Holmgren, take us to 7 degrees up bubble, and get us to the surface." He turned and looked at Bob at radio, "You get on the horn to the _Seaview_. Find out if they have a doctor available, and tell them we need him here as soon as we surface. Then find out if anyone has had first aid training since they left the Navy. We need to get the bleeding stopped."

Everyone rushed to obey, and Hal turned his attention to the still, pale, young man. "Hang in there, Lee. This boat doesn't want your blood. She didn't save US then just to take YOU now. You just hold on. Your friends are coming. They'll take you back to your 'lady'. Don't want to scare them now do you?" There was no response. How had things gone so wrong so fast?

Chapter 14

Nelson hung on to the periscope rail as the _Seaview_ tossed back and forth. The turbulence passed, and he looked at Sparks. "Get them again. Did your warning get through?"

"I think so, Sir" sparks replied and then turned his attention to calling the _Triggerfish_. Patterson had yelled out the warning, and Sparks had tried to get through in time to warn the smaller vessel. Now he tried to raise them again, hoping they had survived.

"_Seaview_ this is _Triggerfish_. We're still here! Thanks for the warning. We have injured on board. Do you have a doctor or corpsman?"

"_Triggerfish_ we do have a doctor. What is the nature of your injuries?"

"We have assorted bumps and bruises, but the XO is the worst. He was thrown into the bulkhead. He's bleeding badly from his head. We have pressure on the wound, but he's unconscious. We need someone here as soon as possible. We don't have any of the guys who were corpsmen."

Nelson and Morton exchanged puzzled glances at this last statement. Morton sent Sharkey to inform Jamieson that he, or one of his corpsmen needed to go over to the other vessel. There had been some minor wounded reported by damage control, but he didn't know the extent, and if Jaime would be free to go.

"Kowalski, as soon as we surface you and Riley get the skiff and take whoever goes from sickbay over to the _Triggerfish_. You and Riley can be bringing back some of the scientists while Doc is evaluating the injured man. We'll stand in as close as we can so it'll be a short trip."

"Aye, Sir," Kowalski said and headed for the aft hatch to collect Riley so they could stand ready for when they surfaced.

Morton watched the depth meter slowly moving upward. They were following the _Triggerfish_ up, the smaller boat having to make a slower, shallower surfacing than the_Seaview_ was capable of. He sighed. Everything had been going so well. Why did these things always seem to happen?

Ten minutes later Kowalski guided the skiff to a stop at the side of the old boat. He noticed Riley staring at the rust patches with his mouth hanging open, and reached over to nudge him. "Hey it got the job done, you can't always judge by appearances you know." John, the corpsman that Jamieson had elected to send in his place since he was casting a broken arm, nodded in agreement. The two ratings held the boat steady as John disembarked. A man in the conning tower waved him towards the hatch, spoke into a microphone, and then went back to scanning the area with binoculars, obviously on lookout duty. John caught the bag that Kowalski tossed him, and started toward the hatch. Kowalski stopped him. "Hey John, why don't you just have them send those scientists up and we'll start moving them over to the _Seaview_. No need for us to go down too."

"You got it Ski," John said

"Aw, I wanted to see what it looked like inside," Riley whined. "The thing is older than I am. And what's with the geezer on lookout?"

Kowalski slapped Riley on the back of the head lightly. "Shut up I tell you. They helped us out, don't talk down about them."

"I wasn't…" the conversation faded behind John as he went to the side hatch in the conning tower, and entered. He then climbed down a ladder. He was met at the base of the ladder in the control room by a man that had to be at least 70, dressed in jeans and a blue shirt.

"Hello, you the doctor?" he inquired.

"No, I'm a corpsman. The doctor was in the middle of casting a compound fracture. I'm a qualified field medic."

"That works. Come forward, he's over here. I'm Hal O'Bannon, Captain of the _Triggerfish_. Thanks for getting here so fast."

"No problem. By the way, the men are waiting to start taking the scientists back to the _Seaview_. If you would like to off load them now."

A big smile grew over O'Bannon's face. "Yes! Can't wait to get the whiners out of here." He motioned to a man standing by, who looked to John to be somewhere around 65, and waved aft. "Run them up on deck Jerry. Use the rear hatch so they aren't cluttering the control room again. Cookie will be glad to see them go."

"Aye Sir," the man said and disappeared aft, a grin on his face.

John paused for a moment as he realized that all the men manning the stations in the control room were over 65. It was getting really strange. He wished the doctor had come, John hadn't studied geriatrics, and wasn't sure he was prepared to deal with possible age related complications of a serious blow to the head. They were moving toward a small knot of people in the forward section of the control room, when O'Bannon stopped and turned. John looked at him, puzzled.

"I think I should warn you, before you see him. You know him."

"Know him, Sir? I'm afraid you've mistaken me for someone else, I don't know anyone serving on a…private submarine."

Hal laughed at John's search for a word. "Well, you didn't think you did. He isn't exactly supposed to be here." O'Bannon moved aside, and John, curious moved forward.

Several of the people standing around moved aside, and John gasped as he realized who was laying on the deck. The Skipper? He was supposed to be on some cruise somewhere drinking mai tais, not on an old boat unconscious. John pushed the thoughts aside as he knelt next to the man holding pressure on the blood soaked cloth on Crane's head. The man was a thin, 70'ish man with wire rimmed glasses, dressed as the others were in jeans and a blue shirt. As John reached for a pulse, he spoke.

"He was bleeding badly at first, but it's slowed down. He hasn't moved at all. We've been speaking to him, but there was no response."

John nodded, and trying to push the questions that were filling his brain aside, he looked at Crane's pupils, and then carefully removed the cloth to look at the wound. It was a deep gash, seeping blood slowly. He replaced the sodden cloth with a clean field dressing, and looked up at the ring of anxious faces. "Definitely a concussion, but it looks like the bleeding has slowed down which is a good sign. The Doc needs to sew up the gash, and he'll be able to do a better evaluation on the concussion. The problem is I don't think he should be moved until the Doctor sees him. He always says the Skipper has a hard head, but he'll have _my_ head if we move him and there's further damage." John noticed a stirring among the crowd, and the skinny man with the glasses looked at O'Bannon.

"Skipper?" he asked, and the others nodded, also looking at O'Bannon.

"Oh give it a break. So the kid's a Captain. What do you want?" Hal replied, shuffling his feet. He didn't meet anyone's eyes.

Another man spoke. "Captain of what exactly. You told us he was Naval Reserve."

"He _is_ Naval reserve." Hal said ignoring the rest of the question, he seemed to be edging sideways so that John and Crane were in between him and his crew.

"Answer the question Hal! What boat is he Captain of?" a voice insisted.

"Uh… the _Seaview_."

"What!"

"You're kidding!"

"No shit?"

"We've been treating the Captain of the _Seaview_ like a newbie? Why didn't you say anything?"

The comments came fast and loud. John just ducked his head and continued gathering the information Doctor Jamieson would need.

"He didn't want anyone to know! He enjoyed your stories, he said, even those that he didn't believe. He said it wasn't about him, it was about us, and the boat, and that was what was important. If this hadn't happened you might never have known, and he would have been just as happy."

The men shuffled around, hanging their heads for all the world like a bunch of schoolboys caught in the act of being naughty.

John chose this moment to break in. "I need to contact the _Seaview_, and see if the Doctor can come over. Can we do that?"

Hal nodded, and motioned to Bob, one of the crowd. "Get _Seaview_ will ya Bob."

"Aye, Sir," he said, and moved to the radio. In a few moments he was handing a microphone to John who asked for Jamieson.

"Jamieson here. What you got John?" came the Doctor's reply after a few minutes delay.

"Concussion and the patient has a four inch gash on the left side of his head just above the hairline. The bleeding has stopped, pulse is steady, blood pressure is 105 over 70. He's been unresponsive since the accident. Pupils are uneven. I cannot detect any neck or spinal injury, but I wanted to know if you wanted him moved. Uh Doc… the patient he's…" John stopped, unsure how to drop this particular bomb.

"The patient's what? Please repeat," Jamieson asked, thinking they had lost transmission.

John heaved a sigh, and then spoke again. "The patient is the Skipper."

There was a long silence, and John could almost imagine the faces around the control room. Suddenly a voice came over the speaker.

"_Triggerfish_, repeat your last transmission." It was Nelson, and he did not sound happy. John was about to reply when O'Bannon reached down and took the microphone out of his hand.

"Admiral you heard what you thought you heard. _Your_ Captain is _my_ Executive Officer. He didn't think anyone would need to know, so we didn't say anything before now. He's damn pale, Sir, we need to get him taken care of. We can discuss the whys and wherefores later. Please."

Another silence, and then Nelson came on again. "We're coming now. _Seaview_ out." No room for doubt there. Nelson was on his way, and he _would_ come aboard, her Captain's wishes not withstanding.

Hal looked around at his crew. "Well you heard him, we're having an Admiral aboard. Get this place ship shape ASAP. You want the kid to be ashamed of us?"

The men raced off, determined to make the boat look as good as possible in the few moments they had.

Hal looked down at Crane's still form. "We'll do you proud kiddo, we still know how to treat an Admiral."

Ten minutes later. Hal O'Bannon stood on the deck of the _Triggerfish_ and watched as a young man in a red jumpsuit maneuvered the skiff into place at the side. They had dug out a reasonable looking boarding ladder, and several of the crew where on hand to make a greeting party. They had even changed to fresh shirts, and clean jeans. Unfortunately time had been too short to allow for a shave, and since most of the men had forgone shaving for the last four days, they were looking a bit scraggly.

Nelson climbed nimbly up the side of the boat, and looked at the gathered men. His eyes widened as he noted the average age of the greeting party was somewhere in the late sixties or early seventies. He turned to the man who stood apart, whose very posture bespoke a past as a Master Chief.

"Captain O'Bannon I presume?" he said as he offered a hand. The man shook it, his strength still obvious.

"Admiral. We've met before, I was an aide to Admiral Keating for many years."

"Yes… I remember you now. At the War College several years ago was the last time wasn't it?"

"Yes, Sir."

Nelson looked around again at the men, and decided to be blunt, "What the hell is going on?"

Jamieson had climbed up the ladder, and bag in hand was waiting. Ignoring the Admiral, which went against years of training, Hal eyed him. "You the Doc?" At Jamieson's nod he turned toward the conning tower. "Come with me, they are in the control room, your boy didn't want to move him." As he passed the Admiral, he said, "Come along Admiral. I'll give you the tour, and answer your questions." Hal noticed another man, tall and blond with blue eyes, had also climbed aboard. His insignia was that of an Lt Commander.

As they moved as a group toward the conning tower, Nelson glanced at the tall blond, and said to O'Bannon, "I'm sorry I haven't introduced my men. This is Will Jamieson, my Chief Medical Officer, and Chip Morton, my, _Lee's_, Executive Officer."

_Ah ha,_ Hal thought to himself. _Well that explains who he is_. Crane had told O'Bannon quite a lot about the people in his life, and Nelson and Morton were the two most important to the younger man. He nodded at the blond, and motioned the _Seaview_ contingent to proceed him through the hatch. He saw the rest of his crew going down the aft hatch. He would bet there would be some serious gossiping going on soon. Old women, they were just a bunch of old women.

They climbed down into the control room, and he saw Nelson and Morton sizing up the control room as only submariners could do. He also noticed that the doctor focused on his corpsman and the still form of Lee Crane immediately, and doubted he even saw the control room much. Good man.

They all moved over to Crane, and he heard the blond young man, Morton, draw in a quick breath when they could see Crane's head and face. The boy was very pale, and while the corpsman had cleaned off the blood from his face, the left shoulder of his blue shirt was soaked with blood, and a puddle was drying on the deck. The doctor immediately was on his knees beside Crane, and he and his corpsman were murmuring to each other. Hal got a definite sense that the rest of them needed to be somewhere else, so he began waving off his own men back to their stations. The Admiral and Morton seemed reluctant to move, and O'Bannon was pretty sure that the Admiral was looking paler than he had on deck.

"I have the feeling your doctor doesn't appreciate kibitzing, Admiral. Let me show you around, and get you a cup of bad coffee. By then we should know something I hope."

The Admiral nodded absently, and with one last look at Crane's pale face, allowed himself to be shown toward the passageway aft of the control room. "I'd be particularly interested in why this vessel seems to be crewed by a slightly mature group of men, and how you came by my Captain," he said, and he glanced into the small Captain's cabin just aft of the Control Room. That brought back old memories of his own first command, a Narwhal class boat. There were a lot of similarities. He had trained in one of these boats at Groton, and the feeling was quite familiar to him. He had to smile a little when he noticed Chip having to bend a lot more than on the_Seaview_ to clear the watertight doors. Lee must have had a heck of a time also. His smile faded at the thought of his young Captain. "Frankly Captain, I think I'd like to skip the tour for now, and get to the explanations," he said in his best command voice. It never seemed to work with Lee all that well, but you never knew, this man might be a bit easier to deal with, since he wasn't a career Captain.

"I understand, Sir." Hal indicated the door to the wardroom, "Why don't we cut to the chase, and the coffee."

Nelson nodded, and led Morton and the Captain of the Triggerfish into the wardroom. Now they were going to get some answers.

Chapter 15

"So you've only known Lee for a little over a week?" Morton said. "And yet you trusted him with your boat?"

Hal nodded, "I know it sounds crazy. I still don't quite believe it myself. But the boy is good! He talks the talk and walks the walk. He had everything set up in 48 hours, and he still had time to get the standard shipped overnight from Groton. You don't know what seeing that standard up there again meant to us. You can't, you weren't there that Christmas morning. This boat gave us all a gift, the greatest gift. She let us have the lives that made us what we are today. We met our wives, had our children, had careers. All because this boat did something she shouldn't have been able to do. So when the only option to save her was to trust a baby faced kid who just happens to Captain one of the largest submarines on the planet, when he's not gimping around on a cane that is, I didn't hesitate to take it." This last he said defiantly.

"We understand that it was important to you all. You have to understand that _we_ left an injured crewman, a friend, on shore, thinking he was safe, only to find out he's back out at sea, and in physical danger. You'll have to forgive us our concern, and write off any incredulity with the situation as confusion. We are simply trying to understand what happened to our friend," Nelson said, as the tension rose. Morton was reacting as if they had kidnapped Crane and made him be Executive Officer. O'Bannon was being defensive, and not much was being solved.

"I understand your concern Admiral, but it's not like we shanghaied him, or forced him on board. He had every opportunity to back out before we sailed, or any given night that we pulled into a harbor. He wanted to come. The kid even liked our stories. It was kind of nice to know that there was someone who loved boats and understood what we felt that was coming up behind us. It kind of validated what _we_ felt. It wasn't just important to us anymore, it was important to some one who had other things to do with his life beside live in the past. We certainly meant him no harm, and we even made sure that he did his exercise. In fact he had a whole shipload of nursemaids, come to think of it. He seemed to take that kinda well."

"He's used to it by now," muttered Morton under his breath. He sighed and looked at Nelson. "Actually it's exactly what Lee would do, Sir. I don't know why we are surprised when he pops up in these strange places. He probably thought it was funny to tell the therapist that he was going on a cruise, figured it was payback for us taking the hard line with him on his knee."

"Indeed," Nelson replied, and looked at the chronometer on the wall. "I wonder what's keeping Jaime. It can't be _that_ serious can it?"

"He'll be fine." Cookie said coming up from the galley with a coffee pot to refill the cups that each man was nursing. "I just snuck up there to reconnoiter. The Doctor was saying something about suturing the wound, and then taking him back to the _Seaview_. Seemed to be optimistic that he would be waking up soon. Also said something about a hard head."

Morton and Nelson shared a smile, both loosing sighs of relief.

"Thanks Cookie," Hal said, then looked at Nelson and smiled. "I don't supposed you remember Cookie, do you Admiral? Of course he was probably dressed a little better, and had better coffee then."

"Smart Ass," muttered the cook, and thrust his hand out to Nelson. "Ignore him, he wouldn't know good coffee if he fell in it. We did meet however, though I don't think you'll remember. I'm a bit out of my milieu."

Nelson was somewhat taken aback by the change in the cook's language. It became more smooth, more professional, almost silky, like a good concierge or maitre'd. A maitre'd, hmmm. Nelson mental removed the grimy white apron, shaved the scraggly beard, and replaced the jeans and denim shirt with a suit and came up with…"The restaurant on Fifth Ave in New York. You had the most wonderful sauce on the sole."

"Oh, don't tell him that! He pretends that _he_ does the cooking at the restaurant, and yet all we can get is 'stuff on a shingle' and stew."

"That was beef stroganoff on freshly baked biscuits and beef burgundy, you cretin. It's nice to know there is someone out there who has a palate to enjoy my foods," Cookie quipped back at Hal with a sniff. "Please drop in again when you are in New York, Admiral. Captain Crane and I can talk old times, and I'll prepare my sole for you free of charge."

"Finally, food priced where it is supposed to be," Hal yelled after the retreating Cookie. He turned back to Nelson and Morton, "He knew who Lee was all along, guess you were all together at the restaurant. Your boy made a lot of friends here, Admiral."

"So it would seem, Captain. It's good to know. He doesn't often have time to make friends outside of _Seaview_ and the Institute."

"So he said. I don't think he regrets that at all though. He talked about his boat to me at night after we docked her. He would stay until I had her battened down, and walk with me to the hotel. Some of the stories!" He saw a look cross Nelson's eyes. "No, No nothing classified. Just those kinda of stories submariners have. And I thought my boys were big bullshooters. That kid has a leg up on them. I wish my son…" he stopped for a moment, blinking. "I wish Rickie had chosen the Navy, and submarines, instead of the Marines. Maybe he would still be here to listen to my stories, maybe he would have children for me to tell my stories too. Maybe that's why I let your boy push it, let him come along. He reminds me of Rickie, or what Rickie might have been at that age." He shook his head to get rid of the might have beens, and focused back on Nelson who was watching him with understanding.

"Anyways. You know the rest. We felt the wave from the quake since we were so close in to the coast. Then we heard your radio call for aid, and I knew we had to go. He didn't ask for it, if that's what you are thinking. He wouldn't have, even if it tore his guts out not knowing what was going on with his boat and his crew. I could see it in his eyes."

Nelson and Morton nodded in understanding, Lee's eyes were just about the only way they could tell sometimes what was going on with the quiet, and intensely private, man. As Morton was about to speak, John appeared in the doorway.

"Admiral, Doctor Jamieson thinks we can take the Skipper back to the _Seaview_ now. He wants to know if you want to go across with us, or wait for the next boat?"

Nelson thought about the size of the skiff, and thought better of his urge to go along. "Mr. Morton and I will wait here, John. Have Kowalski come back as soon as possible."

The corpsman nodded and left. Nelson looked at O'Bannon.

"About that tour Captain?"

"My pleasure Admiral. Shall we start in the engine room?"

Chapter 16

Lee Crane heard someone moaning in the darkness. He didn't know who it was, but he wished they would stop since the noise was making his head hurt. He couldn't remember why exactly he was in the dark, or where exactly he was, but at some level he was feeling safe and comfortable, the same feeling that he got when he was on his boat. But he was on shore wasn't he? Or wait, he was on the _Triggerfish_. But the engines didn't feel right. The old diesels shouldn't feel like _Seaview_'s nuclear powered smoothness. The disparity was enough to make him try to move, to leave the darkness to find out what was going on, but when he went to move, his head seemed to explode in pain. That moaning became a groan, and he realized that the groan sounded familiar. Was that Nelson, or Chip? He had to go see. Someone needed help. He tried to raise a hand to his head to make sure it was still attached, since it felt like someone had tried to rip it off. He had almost reached it when he felt a hand around his wrist, and a voice echoed through the darkness.

"Don't touch the dressing. It'll hurt, and you won't know anymore than you do now. How about opening your eyes?"

_That_ was Jaime. Maybe he was on _Seaview_. But why was it so dark?

The moaner seemed to have the same question, because the same familiar voice mumbled something indistinct about why it was so dark.

Jamieson seemed to be stifling his laughter as he replied, "Maybe if you try opening your eyes, Skipper, that problem could be solved."

Crane wasn't too sure why Jamieson was addressing someone else as 'Skipper', but he decided to try the open eye thing, and putting forth some serious effort managed to get his eyes to open a crack. As the lights, obviously much brighter than those he remembered being in Sickbay, pierced his eyes, everything came back in a rush. The_Triggerfish_, the cruise to Hal O'Bannon's marina; the earthquake; the call for help; the scientists; the radio warning of turbulence. Then there was nothing. He vaguely remembered reaching out and finding nothing to grab, but that was it. He _knew_ he had somehow gone from the cramped control room of the _Triggerfish_ to the Sickbay of the _Seaview_, that the _Seaview_'s engines were in station-keeping mode, and that they were on the surface. He knew as he knew his own name, though he could not explain _how_ he knew it.

He very slowly turned his head to look into Jamieson's brown eyes, which were watching him with amusement and concern. "I did my exercises," he said, his voice hoarse.

Jamieson laughed, and reached out to keep Crane from attempting to sit up. "Not yet. You know the drill. Name, rank, where are you, and what happened?"

"The _Triggerfish_, there was turbulence, how is the boat, was anyone hurt?" he croaked out, remembering his responsibility.

"Well that answers one of the questions," Jamieson said dryly.

"Crane, Commander, Sickbay. Anything else? Now answer my questions."

"Minor bumps and bruises. A comment was made about having to borrow your BenGay, other than that boat and crew came through just fine. Except for you that is. Concussion, a cut above the hairline that took ten stitches, and assorted bruises. Your regular thing. You want me to make the obligatory comment regarding your hard head, or should we just consider it done?"

"Let's do it next time, OK. You seem to be echoing right now, and I can't take two of you," Crane said. He had squeezed his eyes closed again, but opened one again to watch Jamie's face scowl at him. That satisfaction taken, he closed it again, and allowed himself to sink back into the now familiar and comforting darkness.

Jamieson remained sitting on the side of the bunk until Crane had drifted back to sleep. He was satisfied with the answers and the condition of the young Captain, but he always took extra care with him. If he wasn't going to take care of himself… Jamie shook his head. Old argument, no new answers. He rose to his feet and went to his office, where Nelson, Morton, and the Captain of the _Triggerfish_ were sitting, taking up most of the room. He maneuvered back to his desk chair and sat down. Three pairs of anxious eyes moved from the door to the Sickbay to him. He raised a hand.

"He's fine. He woke up for a few moments. Had one hell of a headache and irritated his doctor. Business as usual."

Everyone sat back with a sigh of relief.

"I don't mean to be pushy, and I certainly don't expect Lee to do it, but we're kind of up a creek. Lee had the Master's ticket we were running on. They won't let us in the harbors without it and we still have 3 days back to my place. Even with this little side trip we can be there in time for Christmas, and the guys will be anxious to get in. All the families are meeting at my place for a party, and we don't want to disappoint."

Nelson smiled. "You came to our aid, now it's our turn. Give me some time to put things together, and I'll come with you." He sat back with a far away look in his eyes. "It's been a long time since I sailed on a Harpoon class, I have some fond memories of a time when a very green ensign managed to get lost in the boat the first day he was to report for duty. The Captain sent the COB for me, and he very politely tore a strip off my backside as he took me to my berth, and then led me to the control room like a child. I thought I was finished right then. I've come a long way. I promise not to get lost again."

Morton smiled at the story. "We can follow you in. We're done with this cruise, and we're heading back to Santa Barbara anyways. You're right there on the way."

This agreed the three men vacated Jamieson's office, leaving him with his sleeping patient.

Chapter 17

They were one hour out of Stayson Bay, where O'Bannon had his marina, and they had come to a full stop. The _Seaview_ moved up alongside the older, smaller boat, and with a few lines lashed the two together, with a gangplank spanning the space between. Nelson, bag in hand, shook the hand of O'Bannon, thanking him for the experience. Turning to the gangplank, they watched as Lee Crane, with only a white bandage on his head to show for his injury, made his way across.

"It seems my replacement has arrived Hal. I leave him to you. Please return him no worse for wear. I need him for the next cruise," Nelson joked.

"I'll do my best Harry," they had dropped the formal titles for the most part after the first hour Nelson had come aboard, "but given the stories you've told, it seems kind of a difficult prospect. I'm not sure if twenty four of us are up to the task, _you_ seem to have quite a few more babysitters."

The two men laughed, and Crane eyed them suspiciously as he came up to them. That didn't bode well. The two older men seemed to be looking at him with amusement. He held up a hand.

"I don't want to know. I have a feeling that it would just make my headache come back." He had practically threatened Jamieson with all out mutiny if he didn't get out in time to be on the _Triggerfish_ when she came in to her final berth. The discussions had been loud and threats had been exchanged. Only the intervention of Morton, this time on Crane's side of the equation, had averted an escape attempt involving a late night swim between boats. In reality the headaches came and went, but otherwise the symptoms of concussion had disappeared in the last three days. He hadn't been allowed to go on duty, but he had been allowed to sleep in his own cabin, and had prowled his boat at will, re-familiarizing himself with her crew and her compartments. He was, for the most part, a happy camper. Jamieson, while miffed about the concussion, and what he saw as a lack of proper rest, was a least happy with his knee, which was showing every sign of being well enough to allow him to go on the next cruise.

Nelson and O'Bannon exchanged grins, and one last handshake. O'Bannon moved off and gave the two _Seaview_ officers a little privacy. Nelson turned to Crane and placed a hand on the slim shoulder. "How are you really feeling Lee?" The amusement was gone, and only concern looked out from the light blue eyes.

"Really Admiral, I'm feeling pretty good. I get a few headaches, each less than the one before, but they are less and less frequent."

"Good. I'm assuming I don't have to tell you to take care of yourself in the next hour or so. The Institute is sending a car for you. It should be there in good time. I expect you at my house on Christmas morning, early. Bring an appetite, you know Mrs. Evans lives to feed you, and you might as well give her a thrill for Christmas at least."

Crane grinned. He was happy that Nelson had asked him to share Christmas day at his home. Chip was going back to see his family, and had asked Lee along, but the Morton clan was having a particularly large houseful this Christmas, and Lee didn't want to add to the crowd even though he would have been as welcome as anyone else. He valued the time he spent alone with Nelson. In the peaceful, quiet study they would sit back after breakfast and present opening, and talk of things they had little time to discuss otherwise. The future of the Institute, fantasy upgrades to the _Seaview_, philosophy, art, anything that came to mind. After a quiet day spent in talk, they would share dinner and a quiet game of chess. Crane had been pleased to find himself more than a match for the acknowledged genius in the game of strategy. Their games were hard fought, and entertaining for both men. Later still they would share a glass of brandy before Crane went home, or perhaps he would stay overnight in one of the guest rooms if the game had run on too long.

"I'll do that, Sir. I thought she was going to cry the last time I turned down seconds. For a little old lady she's an expert on guilt. Cookie isn't even in her league."

They shared a laugh, and a handshake, and then Nelson was gone. The crews unshipped the gangplank, and then the lines holding the two boats together were cast off. The _Seaview_ moved away, Nelson and Morton waving from the conning tower before they went below, and the great submarine dove out of sight. She would be back in Santa Barbara in about two hours.

Crane turned to O'Bannon. He smiled a little and straightened to attention. "Executive Office reporting for duty, Sir," he said as he saluted.

O'Bannon grinned back, and snapped one off himself. "Very well. Since you've been goldbricking for most of the cruise Mister, you take her in."

"Aye Aye, Sir," Crane said and moved to the conning tower. After climbing up to the bridge he reached for the microphone. "Attention engine room, engines to half speed. Helmsman come to heading 104 as soon as you have steering way. We're taking her home, gentlemen."

O'Bannon, standing now at his shoulder, nodded and put a hand on Crane's shoulder. They stayed there as the boat made her final trip in from the sea, her crew intact, her flags flying proudly in the breeze.

The End


End file.
